Where Do We Begin?
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: This is an AU in which John was in the know about Sherlock's faked death and Molly was in the dark. Takes place during The Empty Hearse. I realize it's not a realistic scenario but take it for what it's meant to be...FLUFF. All characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC.


"And what about Molly Hooper?" Sherlock inquired.

"Molly?" Mycroft questioned.

"Have you seen her?" asked Sherlock.

"Oh yes, we meet up every Friday for fish and chips. I've kept a weather eye on her, of course. We haven't been in touch at all to…prepare her," Mycroft replied haughtily. Upon being handed a photograph of Molly holding hands with an unknown man, Sherlock blinked rapidly.

"Oh no, we'll have to get rid of that," he mused.

"We?" Mycroft's brows furrowed.

"She looks so unhappy. From what I can tell, he's not very good at keeping her happy," Sherlock deduced.

"Is that jealousy, brother mine?" Mycroft challenged.

"Hm? No, of course not, don't be silly. Sentiment is a chemical defect found—" Sherlock began.

"On the losing side, yes I know. I told you that," Mycroft finished. "But it may just be possible that you're only human, Sherlock."

"Where's she going to be?" inquired Sherlock.

"How would I know?" Mycroft asked.

"You always know," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"She has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001," Mycroft answered.

"I think maybe I'll just drop by," Sherlock muttered.

"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome," Mycroft warned.

"No, it isn't," Sherlock confidently responded.

* * *

 **Later That Night**

Sherlock made his way into the upscale restaurant, sneaking items up slowly for his disguise: a bow tie, glasses and eyeliner to draw a mustache. He soon spotted Molly sitting at a table with the unknown man in the photograph. He removed a bottle of champagne from a waiter's hands, making his way toward his pathologist.

"Madame, I think you will find this vintage exceptionally to your liking. It has all the qualities of the old, with some of the color of the new," Sherlock suggested in a fake French accent. Molly let out a giggle, without looking up at the waiter.

"No, sorry, not now, please," Tom piped up, clearly handling a velvet box under the table. It did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. _No_ , he thought, _I must stop this from happening_.

"Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend," Sherlock continued, removing the glasses from his face.

"Sorry, sir, no but thank—" Molly stopped, seeing none other than Sherlock Holmes before her. "Sher-Sherlock. No, it's—it's impossible. You…died." Her voice cracked, tears threatening to spill over. Whether it was tears of joy, anguish or both, Molly didn't know.

"No," Sherlock replied.

"B-but you're dead," Molly insisted, assuming she was hallucinating.

"No, I'm quite sure actually, I checked," Sherlock responded once more before wiping the fake mustache from his face.

"Two years," Molly stated, raising her voice slightly. "I thought you were dead for two years. How could you, Sherlock, why?" The tears spilled over, causing Molly's breathing to become shallow.

"Should I just—" Tom began awkwardly.

"Molly I—I'm so sorry, but it was for your safety and the safety of others," Sherlock said, attempting to console her, too afraid to reach out and being pushed away. "Would you like to talk elsewhere, Molly?" She soon lifted her head to look into his eyes and nodded slightly. The man she was in love with, who she thought to be dead, stood before her alive and well.

"Tom, I—I'm sorry, but this night will have to be cut short," Molly sniffled out. Nodding, Tom took his leave but not before kissing her goodbye. "Where to, Sherlock?"

"Baker Street," he replied as if it were obvious.

 **221B**

"Molly, I'm sorry that I upset you, I may have miscalculated my return plan but please know it was to take down Moriarty's network and to keep the lot of you safe," Sherlock explained.

"Only three friends in the world? If John helped you fake it, why didn't Moriarty target him? He's your best friend," Molly asked.

"As Moriarty sought to tarnish my reputation, John played the part of acting like he fell for Moriarty's lies when he was posing as Richard Brook. In effect, that caused Moriarty to write John off as a friend, as he acted like he wanted nothing to do with me," Sherlock answered. "To be fair, I had thought Moriarty wrote you off as well, as I made it a point to either ignore you or be unnecessarily cruel, which I am very sorry for, Molly, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I still don't understand," Molly insisted. "I mean, I do, but you actually care about me?" Sherlock's face softened in remorse.

"Of course I do. I thought I had Moriarty believing you didn't matter at all to me, but he figured out the truth," Sherlock told her, his voice gentle. "The truth being that you are the one that mattered most." Molly was stunned. Not for one second did she think this would happen. The possibility that Sherlock actually cared about her never crossed her mind except in her dreams.

"Sherlock," Molly whispered. "I—I…love that you're alive and I'm happy but I just need time to process."

"I understand. At least consider going on a case with me sometime? To go along with the apology and to make it up to you," Sherlock asked. He was nervous of her answer, afraid she'd decline as if it was a date. _Well, I suppose, in a way, it is_ , he thought.

"I'd love that, thank you. I'll see you around," Molly replied before promptly leaving 221B.

The Next Day

"So, that's why I can't do this anymore, Tom," Molly explained. "It wouldn't be fair to you if I didn't give you my whole heart." She and Tom parted ways and Molly was still a bit at odds over the whole situation, but the one thing she knew for sure was that she loved Sherlock. Molly Hooper would love him and love him and love him for the rest of her life. Just then, her phone buzzed.

 _Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. SH_

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Molly asked, unsure of what was happening, but hopeful all the same.

"Yes. Molly," Sherlock began.

"Yes," she encouraged.

"Would you…would you like to—" Sherlock continued, his words faltering.

"Have dinner?"

"Solve crimes?"

* * *

The day went on, talking to clients, investigating a mystery surrounding a disappearing man from a train. Molly noticed the silly faces Sherlock would make at her as they were being shown the camera footage from the train stops. Stifling her laughter, she returned to the task at hand, listening to the rest of what the man was telling them. When they had finished up there and descended down the staircase, Molly was caught off guard once more.

"Fancy some chips?" Sherlock asked, nonchalantly.

"What?" Molly replied, wondering if she heard him right.

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the road. The manager always gives me extra portions," Sherlock suggested.

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" Molly joked.

"Nope. Helped him put up some shelves," Sherlock smirked.

"Well, I—I suppose I could go for some chips," Molly smiled up at him.

"Excellent," Sherlock exclaimed, putting his hands together before reaching his right hand out to take her left hand to Molly's surprise.

* * *

"So the killer tried to make it look like a vampire attack," Molly laughed. "Well, at least that case didn't sound like it sucked." Sherlock grimaced at her horrible pun.

"Yes, well, at least we all know what we knew beforehand: vampires do not exist, case closed," he responded. Molly stuck another chip into her mouth as Sherlock went off about another myster he was fascinated with. She enjoyed hearing him prattle on about his favorite cases. He often asked for her input to test her to see if she could solve it before he finished telling the story.

"From what I gather, it seems to me that the uncle did it as he would be compensated in the event of her death," Molly concluded about his recent story.

"Very good, Molly, I'll make a detective out of you yet," Sherlock praised. "Do you remember that time you told me you broke things off with the most dangerous man in London?" Of course, he was referring to Moriarty.

"Oh, yes, how could I forget," Molly replied. "I would've preferred him to be gay."

"It must've been brutal for him," Sherlock chuckled. Quickly gaining his composure, Sherlock's face became serious. "Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock," Molly answered.

"Is there any—any chance at all that you would give me the time of day, an opportunity to show you how I feel; No, I'm mucking this up. If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want me? What I mean is that I hope you would consider being my…girlfriend for lack of a better word," Sherlock rambled. The smile she gave him lit up her brown eyes, causing a look of adoration to cross his face.

"Of course, yes, Sherlock, I would love that," Molly told him, a light blush spreading across her cheeks.

* * *

"I had a lovely day," Molly exclaimed as she and Sherlock stood outside of her flat.

"I'm glad," Sherlock smiled. "Thank you, Molly Hooper, I hope to make you very happy. I know you already do the same for me." It was then that he leaned down to press his lips against hers in a kiss that contradicted itself. It was gentle, yet firm, filled with all of the love they both harbored for one another. Molly reached out to run her fingers through his surprisingly soft curls as he cradled her face with one hand and pulled her in closer by her waist with the other. It was a kiss that probably took PDA too far, but in that moment, neither of them really cared. Once the kiss broke so that they could regain their normal intake of oxygen, it began to drizzle.

"I love you, Sherlock," Molly told him. "I've always loved you." His eyes lit up with surprise, not only at her admission but because he knows it's true for himself as well.

"I love you too, Molly Hooper. I will possibly see you tomorrow at the lab?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, of course," Molly replied.

"Goodnight," Sherlock smiled.

"Goodnight, my love," Molly returned, disappearing inside her flat as Sherlock hailed a cab.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I hope y'all enjoyed my little 'what-if' story! Please, let me know your thoughts, I love hearing from you!


End file.
